Jack and Duchess
by QuestRunner
Summary: As Jack and Duchess attempt to rebuild the kingdom, a threat from the past returns. Hit? Stay? Double down? Is the risk worth taking when he could lose it all?
1. Chapter 1

There was no house of cards to rebuild. No insurance or double downs to chance. Only the ashy remains of a corrupted four-suit deck in the guise of a casino, the last remnant of Wonderland's oppressive regime.

Jack walked through the still-smoldering wreckage even as the smoke stung his eyes. A year. It had been an entire year since Alice's crusade, and yet nothing could erase the charred scar of where the Happy Hearts Casino once stood. The blonde pushed his way forward, over chipped glass and splintered metal.

There were any number of routes he could've taken that wouldn't have led him past this bleeding wound in the ground. He could've flown by scarab. He could've rented a flamingo. He even could've asked Charlie for a horse and the charming fellow would've granted his wish, with maybe a few nonsensical phrases here and there to lighten the mood.

But instead, Jack chose to walk. He wasn't entirely convinced that the tears rolling down his cheeks were just a by-product of the smoky air, although he wished that to be true. He hated the Happy Hearts Casino with all his…well, _heart._ The irritating nature of the pun made him grimace and he quickened his pace. Why he continually subjected himself to this pile of anguish was a question for which he had no easy answer. The thin trail he'd worn from over-use weaved around the foundation's edge, disappearing between thin trees that guided the young king's path as he let his thoughts wander.

Red. For some reason he still chose to wear the blasted color, which was odd, considering that the color had been forced upon him ever since his royal birth. But the time of pristine suits, ties, and carefully polished shoes was over. It was a time for integration.

Not long after his mother's arrest, he'd shed the fine clothing that had cloaked him for so long and swapped it with the ruddy garb of the common, although he still couldn't part with the red shade. Acting as the bridge between the pampered upper class of his mother's making and the angry lower class of her suppressed subjects was still a work in progress. Maybe, in the end, it would be all for nothing if he didn't find a way to succeed.

Jack shook his head slightly. No, he couldn't think like that. He knew better. The suits had been disbanded. The library had been reopened and its pages spread to every corner of the world. The hungry had been fed. The homeless had been given shelter. And, after months of effort, he'd managed to shut down the tea runners distributing their contraband to the wealthy and addicted and rid the nasty hallucinogens altogether. Without oysters, it didn't take long until the last drop of tea dwindled into nothing. And, Jack promised, he'd never have another oyster set foot in this land again to be used for such horrific purposes. He closed his eyes as he slowly dredged up the memories of keeping said promise. Still painful. Yet it had been the only way.

The king stilled his steps as he found what he'd been looking for. It was a small clearing, barely big enough for one person to kneel before the rough-hewn tombstone. Jack, usually so poised, dropped to his knees at the sight and let a shaky hand drift over the carved words:

 _Winston H._

 _Beloved husband, adoring father._

His hand seemed to move of its own accord as he absentmindedly removed leaves and other debris from the simple monument. No matter how much the King of Wonderland had failed his people by sheer inaction, he was still his father and deserved a proper resting place. The headstone had been created in secret, the small patch of land scouted from shadows, the thorns and weeds cleared meticulously by his very hands. Even so, the inscription was purposely kept vague, nondescript; he didn't want to run the risk of Heart-Haters desecrating the grave if they were to find this place.

"Father," Jack began tentatively, "I want to ask your advice." The stone remained small and silent in response, much like his Winston Heart during life. It was familiar. And frustrating. "I'm worried." A light breeze tickled the treetops, causing more leaves to fall. Brilliant hues of reds and oranges danced around him before dropping lazily beside the untidy scrawl. Jack swept the leaves away again. "I need your strength, father."

Strength. A quality not many would attribute to the late Winston Heart, yet it _had_ been present, albeit buried beneath his submissive and cowardly nature. Jack had watched his father's reign wither into ineffectiveness day after day in the casino until one day he had failed to rule at all, instead delegating any and all matters to the Queen. He'd simply given up, disillusioned by tea and his wife's hunger for power…or that's what Jack had told himself, until he witnessed his father's strength first-hand. Winston wasn't particularly strong-willed or resolute in his beliefs and lacked conviction unless he was parroting the Queen's orders. So it wasn't a surprise when he said nothing during the Queen's announcement of Jack and Duchess' arranged engagement. Or when he stood idly by while oyster children were marched through the Looking Glass to provide Innocence to the drugged masses. Or when he turned a blind eye to the severe torture methods of Doctors Dee and Dum. It came as an enormous surprise, then, when he learned Jack was a member of the resistance… _and kept his secret._

It was odd to think this decision marked the definitive step in securing the rebellion's victory. Jack had never been more scared in his entire life than when his father had confronted him, alone, about his illegal activities. Even with her temper tantrums and mood swings, his mother's behavior was usually predictable, her emotions easy to deceive. His father, on the other hand, was a puppet with tangled strings. Deeply devoted to the Queen, yet capable of moments of incredible clarity. His father had stepped closer, expression unwavering. Jack, so certain of the executioner's blade, had steeled himself for the blow…when his father's arms embraced him in a crushing hug.

"Stay strong, Jack," Winston had said. And Jack, so relieved to find a confidante, had let his mask slip and returned the hug, reverting ever-so-slightly into that young boy who still needed his father.

"Help me, please." His voice had cracked at the words and he felt the King's hold tighten.

"It'll be okay, son. Trust me." Unfortunately, at that moment, the Queen herself had entered the parlor and swept Jack away for a round of despised tea-testing. Jack remembered locking eyes with his father and exchanging a small nod of understanding before his mother ushered him through the door. That was the last time they spent together—just father and son—before the Heart Empire crumpled into dust. The same ugly dust that marred his boots even now.

"I'm worried that my actions have started another war," the blonde continued solemnly. He let his fingertips brush against the carved words and ignored the persistent trembling in his hand. "And I fear that I've lost two beloved friends forever."

Alice and Hatter.

Jack had never felt more at home than when he'd ran off to another world, exploring New York City with Alice. He'd never experienced such freedom as a prince, especially under his mother's watchful eye. But in Alice's world, living the life of a fictional Jack Chase, it was easy. Jack Chase certainly didn't have the stresses and demands that came with being the Queen's dutiful son, groomed to answer her every beck and call. Over time, in that strange and beautiful city, he'd started to care about Alice, so different from the wealthy, tea-soaked aristocrats that graced the royal halls.

And, selfishly, foolishly, he had asked Alice to be his Queen before she stepped through the Looking Glass and left his own, twisted world far behind. Jack knew, deep down, that she would decline his proposal, but a small part of him wanted—no, needed—that confirmation from Alice herself. After the casino's collapse, Jack had yearned to fall back into the alias he had created. No great weight of responsibility to bear. No threat of assassination. No ugly surname to blacken his reputation. No secret grave to mark.

Alice was his last, tangible hold to that man he'd created in New York. He lovingly remembered those dreamy days attending her Tae Kwon Do classes, buying her flowers, trying to convince her that the tea she brewed tasted far better than the tea he'd grown up with. And, when his entire world seemed to be crumbling around him, he'd latched onto that last lifeline and asked Alice for the impossible. Her refusal was a hidden blessing that later led to the hardest decision of his life.

A week after Alice and Hatter's departure, he destroyed the Stone of Wonderland. It was a public affair upon the steps of the Grand Library with Charlie, Duchess and the ever-loyal Ten of Clubs by his side. As he swung the blade that shattered the stone into oblivion, he felt a piece of his heart chip away as well. Without the stone, the Looking Glass was sealed forever. Alice and Hatter would never be able to return.

And Jack would never be able to escape. Had he kept the Stone of Wonderland, the young king knew he would've been tempted to use it to run away to Alice's world again and resume his counterfeit life as Jack Chase. But, as Alice had taught him on so many occasions, he couldn't run from his problems. It was time to lay Jack Chase to rest.

"Who am I, father? A king? A runaway? A traitor?" Bitterness colored his voice, his clipped accent sharpening as anger pulsed beneath his calm façade.

As a Heart, it was his birthright to rule, but his swift ascension to the throne came with a price. The resistance that once backed his cause was now fractured into two opposing parties. Those who swore allegiance to Jack's reign collectively called themselves the Clubs and believed in his vision of a peaceful and prosperous future. Those who opposed him, the Heart-Haters, consisted of the Spades, whose contempt for the Heart family could be kept at bay no longer. The fear of a second palace coup was ever-present and, even among allies, Jack never truly felt at ease. Even kneeling before the gravestone he felt a tendril of dread course through him, and prompted him to press his late father even more.

"Am I fit to rule? Or am I cursed to repeat the mistakes of those who came before me?" Silence. "Am I a good king?" More silence. He mussed his hands through his hair, willing the tears not to fall. "Please, answer me. Just this once." He dropped his head in his hands, letting the autumn leaves pelt his back in response, when—

"Of course you are, Jack." He lifted his gaze quickly, tracking the lilting response until he locked eyes with Duchess. She approached from his right, stepping gracefully from the small dirt path.

Like himself, Duchess had changed since the events of his mother's downfall. No longer was she the obedient pet of the Queen's making, trussed up in gold and presented to Jack like some sort of prize. Without her daily dosings of Manipulation and Seduction, she was incredibly kind. And thoughtful. And intelligent. And – dare he say it – _strong_.

She'd parted easily with the sunlit shade and adopted a simple and unassuming wardrobe. However, that did not make her any less regal. There was a certain poise about her that had nothing to do with her trained etiquette. And when she smiled – really, truly smiled – he swore he had never seen her look so beautiful.

And here he was. Kneeling in the dirt. Hair standing on end. Close to bawling. He could only imagine how pathetic and broken he looked.

"Jack?" Duchess stepped closer, her boots crunching the strewn leaves. She reached out her hand, but he stood quickly, shuffling backwards away from the comforting touch.

"Hey Duch, what are you—" his back made contact with a sturdy tree, causing him to grunt in pain and look even more idiotic "—doing here?"

Duch. He remembered the first time he'd called her that very name. It was when he'd first visited his mother after her arrest, locked away in the bowels of Caterpillar's reclusive facility. He'd gone alone. The Queen of Hearts—ever witty, ever selfish—had first praised him and complimented his reign. Those sweet nothings quickly melted into insults and empty threats when he refused to release her and reinstate her rule. She'd called him weak, a coward, and a myriad of other words more suited for his late father.

But when his mother mentioned Duchess, he'd visibly stiffened, an action that didn't go unnoticed by the smirking woman behind the bars. The Queen had her ammunition and she knew where to strike. And for minutes, perhaps hours, Jack defended his fiancée before the Queen, as if on trial. Thinking back, Jack didn't remember turning away from her cell in anger. He didn't remember walking in a stupor through the dilapidated streets, at the mercy of any sniper's choosing. He only remembered dear Duchess intercepting him, as if she'd known where to find him all along, and pulling him into the shadows and out of harm's way.

"Duch?" he'd said weakly. And she'd only smiled warmly and handed him a familiar looking fedora.

"Why don't we take a walk, Jack?" He'd allowed Duchess to guide him through the streets in companionable silence. From that moment on, she was never "Duchess" in his eyes. Like Jack Chase, that was also a fictional character—a mask—created to hide the true person underneath.

Jack grimaced at the memory. Why must Duchess always appear when he felt like he was breaking apart? Weak, cowardly…perhaps he wasn't so different from his father, after all.

"I wanted to see if you would like some company," Duchess said. "I can, of course, leave if—"

"No, don't leave. It's—I'd love the company, Duch." A small smile graced her lips, though it vanished quickly once she took in his appearance. Self-conscious, he attempted to brush off the stubborn dirt flecks from his pants and hand-comb his hair into something borderline respectable. "And I'd like your advice, as well." Blue-gray eyes met his gaze, softening slightly in the fading light.

"Yes, Jack?"

"Let's get something to eat. You pick. I'm starving." They walked back together, shoulders not quite touching, hands not quite holding, but close all the same. The dirt bled into concrete as they left the open countryside and entered the fragmented, decaying City.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm telling you, this is a bad idea. No! I absolutely forbid it." Ten flailed his arms in agitation as Jack resisted the urge to rub the impending headache from his temples. "The people already look favorably upon you, thanks to the Stone's destruction. There's no need to make any further public appearances until it's safe!"

"He has a point," Duchess added. "The Heart-Haters make new threats against you every day. You'd be too exposed. Anything could happen."

Jack nodded, fingers steepled under his chin. He glanced up at the White Knight, who had taken to pacing the small room and mumbling under his breath. "Charlie?"

The knight huffed in exasperation then jumped in surprise as if he'd just received an electrical shock. "Ah! Yes! Kings be bold and Kings of old. Bold and old, old and bold…" His ramblings trailed into incoherent thought as he began humming to himself.

Jack had long since became accustomed to Charlie's eccentricities, though deciphering the deeper meaning behind his words was another skill entirely. The knight was a gentle soul, loyal to a fault and wise beyond his years…well, when he actually made sense.

Ten, Duchess and Charlie. He'd inducted them as his official council members within a week of his mother's downfall; a decision that had proved to be one of his finest since ascending the throne. He relied on their day-to-day guidance and enjoyed the time to sit among friends when it felt as if the outside world was plotting against him. The four of them usually came to some form of compromise regarding the issues presented at these meetings, but Jack wasn't about to back down from his proposal this time.

"I need to be seen. I _want_ to be seen. I'm the King of Wonderland and can't just spend my days in hiding. The buildings in this City are deplorable and must be sanitized, if not demolished. I would like to lead this effort."

"But, your Majesty—" Ten's concerns were drowned out by a loud snore from the corner. Jack paced across the room and snapped his fingers in front of the sleeping man's face.

"Rise and shine, Dormie." Doormouse awoke with a start and instinctively reached for an invisible gavel.

"Bidding starts in five minutes!" he cried drowsily. Jack tapped the notepad in front of the auctioneer to garner his full attention.

"Prepare to take notes. Not all of us are in agreement."

"Notes! Yes! Exactly! Right away, right away," Dormie complied and swapped his invisible gavel for a very real quill that he plunged messily into an inkwell.

The man had a record as black and vague as the ink smudge on his fingers, but what he lacked in morality he made up for with information about Wonderland's criminal underbelly. Jack had promised him safety in exchange for knowledge, which the funny little fellow was more than happy to provide, after a sugar cube or two to whet his sweet tooth. Ironically, Dormie had become the council's official scribe, despite his narcoleptic episodes.

"Your Majesty," Ten began again in earnest, "we're just looking out for your best interest. Let it be noted that I _do not_ support your physical involvement in this project. Even without the hazardous nature of such a task, you still must contend with those who would see you beheaded!" Jack clasped Ten on the shoulder with a light shake.

"I don't disagree with you, Ten. But this once beautiful city fell to ruin under my mother's watch and I intend to rectify my family's mistakes. At the very least, my citizens will have clean air to breathe and safe dwellings out of which to create new homes." He leaned heavily in his chair, closing his eyes. "I can't make this decision for you. As council members, you have the power to overthrow my vote if you are all in agreement. Dormie, you know how I stand." One by one, the others silently placed their votes. Jack breathed a sigh of relief. Unanimous. He offered a small smile to the group, which felt at odds with his conflicting emotions. He hoped he was making the right decision.

"Right, then. This will take some planning. Let's get started."

Mold. Asbestos. An abundance of snake-like vines. A ripple of disgust and fear trickled down Jack's spine at the sheer grotesqueness of the site. The White Rabbit's decrepit building, nestled amongst identical ghostly slums, was the unofficial capital of this glorified hell. He couldn't imagine how terrified Alice must have been as she tumbled through the Looking Glass from her perfect world into this absolute wreckage. Selfishly, he was glad he'd been unconscious for the return journey from New York. But waking up, trapped in that godforsaken scarab, had been another nightmare entirely…

Another shiver racked his frame as he walked carefully up the front steps and approached the red eyes of the White Rabbit emblem embossed on the steel exterior. He didn't like this place. This… _facility_. Constructed for the sole purpose of kidnapping unsuspecting oysters for transport to the Casino, the White Rabbit processing center had been his mother's pride and joy. It was a clever system on her part; alarming drop-offs surrounded the vicinity to keep oysters from running away and the mandatory evacuation of this district meant no citizens were around to raise any alarms. A small part of Jack admired the ingenuity of such a feat and he hated himself for it.

Duchess followed him slowly up the steps, noticing his hesitation.

"Jack? What is this place?" As an involuntary denizen of the Casino, she'd never been allowed to roam the streets freely nor had she been privy to many of the Queen's secrets. She'd been molded into the perfect wallflower and the teas forced upon her had ensured she acted the part.

"One of the harvesting points." At her confused expression, he clarified: "For oysters." His voice shook, anger and sorrow blending seamlessly through the chill atmosphere. The blood-red eyes from the doors tracked his movements, almost appearing sentient in the waxing light. He wondered how many innocent oysters had climbed these very steps, never to return to their world. The thought made him sick. Duchess, to his surprise, gave his arm an encouraging squeeze as she took her place beside him. He hesitated for the briefest of moments before covering her hand with one of his own.

For years the teas had haunted and controlled them. Jack couldn't count the number of times he'd surrendered to the oyster concoctions at his mother's insistence. She'd drowned him in Bliss, Confidence, or Excitement—whichever newest trend caught her fancy—and drugged his drinks without his consent while she studied its effects with a watchful eye.

However, the Queen's favorite drug of choice for the members of her court was Obedience, and both Jack and Duchess weren't exempt from the required daily doses. At times it was so potent that Jack could merely stand blankly at the Queen's side for hours while Duchess, doused in a dangerous combination of Obedience and Lust, wrapped her arms around his motionless frame.

It had taken Jack months to build up a resistance to the drug. Months of secretly doubling his doses of Obedience in order to boost his body's immunity. Months of following the Queen like a whipped puppy, the definition of a dutiful son. He routinely watched innocents being dragged away to face the executioner's axe, all while he did nothing. Like his father.

Eventually, the effects of Obedience had no claim over his mind, no matter how many tainted cocktails were pressed into his hands. He played the part well, his face a perfect mask, deceiving even his mother. The time for idleness was over. Caterpillar had been his first contact. Induction into the resistancey came soon after.

The blonde's grip on Duchess's hand tightened slightly. Duch. She'd been compromised by the teas most of all, and yet she never once blamed Jack for her hardships. He almost wished she would. He hadn't been there for her, so focused was he on ridding the Queen from her seat of power.

"I still miss it, sometimes," he confessed, locking eyes with the woman at his side. "Obedience. It made life…easier." He pulled his hand away and broke contact, feeling the familiar weigh of guilt engulf his heart. "How many had to die, purged of their emotions until nothing was left, all so that we could feel?"

Clouds broke apart in wispy threads, exposing the sun's ascent into the early morning sky. Sunlight glinted off the industrial steel coating of the building, sending blinding rays outward in a sea of dancing sparkles. Jack's eyes were shielded from the bright glare thanks to his trusty fedora, but Duchess brought a hand to her face and Ten, who was in the process of scurrying up the stairs, emitted an audible screech. The morning light seemed to physically lift the oppressive ambiance and derail Jack's morose train of thought. He chuckled at the sight of his friends, garnering mixed expressions of curiosity and annoyance.

"You're going to have to contend with that glare all day, I'm afraid. As long as you're outside, that is. Although, I did warn you both to wear hats. Duch?" He indicated his own with a wave of his hand. Duchess made a face and allowed a small smile to grace her features.

"No thanks. I wouldn't be caught dead wearing your ugly hat."

"Hey, you _gave_ me this hat!"

"I'm already wearing a hat!" Ten chimed in irritably, finally reaching the stair's landing. Jack crossed his arms and nodded appraisingly. The Club had elected to wear his formal clover cap instead of the much more practical bowler hat he occasionally donned.

"Ten, I'm not even sure what you have can be considered a hat. And I've told you countless times to just stop wearing the thing." In truth, Jack had _begged_ Ten and the other Clubs to disregard their uniforms months ago. The Club identity and wardrobe was simply another reminder of his mother's hierarchy within the Casino, with Hearts at the top, Diamonds at the bottom and the other suits falling in-between. Ten and the others had refused – first on the grounds that they were loyal to the Heart bloodline (of which only Jack remained), then later as a symbol of Jack's emerging reign. They vowed to be as identifiable as possible until the Heart-Haters were eradicated.

" _I'll_ be the judge of my own wardrobe, thank you," came the brusque reply as the Club surveyed the scenery and shivered. "This is still a bad idea, Jack. There's something about this place—"

"There's always something about my ideas you don't like, Ten—"

"— _something_ wrong. I'm doubling your guard. Don't move." Ten began to backtrack down the steps, when Jack caught his sleeve.

"Ten, everything's going to be okay. If you'd like, you can start organizing the volunteers; they've already been assembled into teams. They just need a starting point to begin the clean up. I'm going on ahead."

"But—!"

The blonde put his hands up in a placating gesture. "Alright, I won't go alone. Duch will accompany me." Realizing he'd just issued a direct order to one of his council members, Jack stammered an apology, turning red in the face. He'd never take away their free will. He wouldn't become that kind of Heart.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean…no, forget it. Duch, you decide—"

"I'm coming with you, Jack," Duchess replied without hesitation. Ten almost started into another tirade of rebuttals, but she stopped him with a shake of her head. "We'll be fine. I'll protect our fearless King if anything happens."

Still shaken from his earlier command, Jack tried to deflect her help. "Duch, no. I mean, I'm not going to force you to come with me."

Duchess rolled her eyes, though not unkindly. "Great. Then let's go. I'm anxious to see what the Queen and her White Rabbit cooked up while I was learning how to balance books on my head."

Jack winced at her candid remark, face growing somber. He had a sudden urge to spirit her away from this foul place, lest it somehow hurt her beautiful soul. He hadn't realized he'd reached for her hand until he felt her delicate fingers within his grasp. "Okay. Together." They walked hand-in-hand toward the glittering entrance with its piercing eyes. Jack willed himself not to think of the Truth Room as he took a chilling breath and opened the door. He stepped slowly over the threshold into the darkness beyond. Duchess' grip tightened at the abysmal sight before them. The door swung shut of its own accord, as if being pulled by taut strings. When Jack turned back to face the doorway, his exit had vanished and his fiancée's hand disappeared suddenly from his hold, leaving him trapped and alone in a dirty, industrial-lit hallway.

"Duch? DUCH?!" he shouted wildly, pounding on the wall behind him that had once held the door to the outside. The walls seemed to reverberate the words back to him, distorted acoustics making her name sound mockingly evil to his own ears. Ten was right, this had been a mistake…and now his Duch was paying the price, ensnared in a tangled web meant for the King of Wonderland.

Jack made his way forward, jumping when shadows moved at odds with the flickering lights above. The nature of this place was to corral wandering oysters straight into the alligator's mouth, so to speak, until the floating scarab prison was filled to capacity. He couldn't help thinking that these tricks and subtle illusions should have died with the Queen's imprisonment. Which meant someone had been expecting him. Someone was still running the show.

The L shaped hallway forced him to turn to the right where a single small room sat nestled at the end of the corridor. A glass table bathed in light shimmered innocently, free from the plant infestation that cloaked the cracked walls within his reach. It was alluring. Dangerous. And the only way forward.

On his worst days, when his mother had seen fit to blend his dosing of Obedience with a few drops of red Vanity, she would take the young prince to this horrible place to watch the proceedings. Jack remembered the Queen cheering as the oysters scurried through the conflicting twists and turns, trembling in fear, and her giggle of delight as, one by one, they succumbed to the shrinking cages and were hoisted into the flight vehicle above. She'd made a game of it as the unwilling victims entered the compound.

"Pick an oyster, my dear. Let's see how long they last!" she would say. And Jack would eagerly comply, reveling in their misery as the Vanity flooding his system stripped any sympathy he felt in his heart.

Jack winced as memories of his prior visits resurfaced. Memories he had tried so hard to bury. He risked a glance over his shoulder and wondered if he was being watched and judged, like so many oysters before him. He shrugged the feeling aside as he entered the pristine room. Dwelling on the unknown wouldn't help Duchess. If anyone had so much as raised a hand against her…

The king swiped the crystal bottle from the tabletop's reflective surface and scanned the spidery scrawl written on the tag. _Curiosity_. He flipped the tag over. _Killed the cat_.

Something cracked against the back of Jack's skull and his body crumpled to the ground in response. He writhed in agony on the shiny tiles, willing himself to remain conscious.

"Hello, your Majesty," a cool voice said. He watched helplessly as a pair of polished boots entered his vision, stopping just inches from his prone figure. Jack felt two pairs of hands grab his arms from behind and force him to his knees. The blonde raised his head in defiance despite the trickle of blood dripping down the back of his neck and pooling at his collar.

"Seven," he managed to gasp as the man met his gaze with a cruel smile. His heart sank. His mother had been particularly fond of the Spade's penchant for cruelty; unlike so many of her other servants, he'd never needed a drop of Obedience to follow her corrupt orders.

"Our once grand prince of Hearts, reduced to this," Seven continued. He picked up the fallen fedora at Jack's feet.

"Where's Duch?" Jack spat. At the mention of her name, the iron grip on his arms tightened.

"Your fiancée? It depends." Seven tossed the fedora to the side. "Tell me, _Jack_. How long has it been since your last dose? Surely a day doesn't go by where you don't miss it." At Jack's continued silence, his attacker smirked. "A reformed Wonderlander. I'm impressed." Seven snapped his fingers and one of his accomplices wrenched the glass bottle out of Jack's hand. The crystalline fluid swirled lazily within its striking prism. The king schooled his features, as he'd done so many times within his mother's presence.

"I won't tell you anything."

"Oh, you think this is Honesty? Well, it was, once. Before the casino fell." Seven pulled the topper off the bottle and watched Jack's eyes narrow at the sight. "All those negative emotions from those scared little oysters ruined the entire stock, but it made for some _interesting_ combinations. No telling what this vial contains." Jack tried to quell the rising panic that blossomed in his chest. He held Seven's glare.

"I've been raised my whole life on those damn drugs. It won't make a difference."

"I think it will," Seven said with another wave of the bottle. "Especially when your newest council learns about Mad March's return. I wonder how my old friend, Ten, will take the news?" Mad March? Jack recalled that Ten and Seven had briefly served together as part of the Mad March's detail. "It's only fitting that the kingdom is freed from the Heart tyranny by the hand of the Queen's favorite assassin."

"You're lying." Dots appeared at the edge of Jack's vision as Seven unleashed a brutal punch to the side of his face.

"Cooperate and we'll only give you half the dose. A few drops should do the trick. Enough to make you the perfect messenger boy." Jack strained weakly against the arms that held him fast.

"You can't break me, Seven. I've tried every tea, every combination, every blend you can think of. You won't get what you want." The Spade regarded him with a wry grin.

"Abdicate the throne and this can all be avoided. If you refuse…well. I can only restrain Mad March so long before he snaps."

"I _will not_ abandon my duties or my people. And if March even _attempts_ to go after my friends—"

"The full dose it is, then. Gentlemen?" Jack grunted as the two Spades released him and his knees buckled. He doubled over, blinking past the blinding pain stabbing his head with every breath. Seven offered him the crystal flask. "Drink." At Jack's insolence, the Heart-Hater took a threatening step forward. "Drink or we make your fiancée do it in your place." Duch. He couldn't take that chance. Against his better judgment, Jack accepted the contraband and downed the glass with one gulp.

"Good boy," Seven sneered, as the young king's body trembled from the intensity of the drug. "Let's see what your subjects think of their mighty and fearless king after this."


	3. Chapter 3

Jack's entire life had been ruled by tea. Its creation had been in place long before his birth, though the Carpenter's efforts had certainly streamlined the system. So it came to reason he would be intimately familiar with every color and flavor, every physical and mental sensation of every tea ever made…even more so than Hatter, who had built his once trivial blackmarket tea trade into a thriving criminal enterprise. It scared Jack that he had been fooled so easily by the clear fluid in the little glass bottle.

Honesty had a particular _weight_ after it left the processing tanks and became distributed in bottled form. To the untrained eye, it would seem as alike and harmless as water, being odorless and tasteless. Jack, however, had recognized the liquid instantly as contraband and labeled it as such within seconds. Or so he thought. The crystalline substance _looked_ like Honesty. Had the same _consistency_ as Honesty. And even brought about a similar dream-like _state of mind_ like Honesty. But it was most definitely _not_ Honesty.

The abundant use of Obedience had rendered Honesty nearly obsolete in his mother's court, though he had been threatened with it a few times in his youth and forced to down a couple drops here and there for quality control purposes. A year ago, he'd swallowed a considerable amount in Duch's presence, which nearly caused him to betray Alice's lineage. That episode had left him in a jarring state of bodily exhaustion, although his mind had been free to wander after the initial haziness disappated. He'd been rendered completely immobile for hours afterward. When he did finally regain control of his limbs, it was all he could do to simply button his shirt and make himself presentable again as prince.

His expectations of Honesty and all other known teas in existence did not – _could not_ – prepare him for the onslaught of pain currently storming his being. Instead of slipping into a leaden heaviness, his body jerked wildly as if trying to rid the poison from the outside. His arms scraped uselessly against the tile floor and his legs kicked solidly into the base of the table. The glass careened to the side and smashed magnificently into a million pieces. Crystal shards scattered through the small room and pelted his clothes and exposed skin. The scratches hardly registered as white heat arced through his head. His hand swept over soft fabric amidst the sharp splinters and he grabbed the object tightly, crushing it to his chest. His fedora.

"Jack! Jack!" The voice came from far away. He struggled to pinpoint its source. _"Jack!_ " His body trembled violently as dread blossomed in his chest. His thoughts spiraled wildly. Duchess was here. She knelt by his side and attempted to subdue his flailing arms. A second figure clad in black also appeared and picked up the now empty bottle. Jack shut his eyes resolutely against the drug's agonizing affects, but he heard her next remark clearly. "Is he poisoned?"

It was the same question. The one she asked of the guard after they found him on the floor of his room in the Happy Hearts Casino. And for a moment he was back there, lying helplessly on his bed, drowning in Honesty although he'd only been given small doses at a time. He heard Duchess continuing to scream his name, but another memory surfaced that caused him to shudder again and shrink away from her touch. "Have another little sip of Honesty, Jack." Her chilling sing-song voice taunted him as the pain flared anew. The dark clothed man placed a hand to the back of Jack's head and gasped. "He's been attacked. He's bleeding. Duchess, we need to get him out of here." Ten. It was Ten. Not some faceless guard. And he was sprawled out on hard tiles, not lush carpet. He willed his mind to hold onto these facts, but the tea was much more potent than any he had conditioned himself against and he was swiftly losing himself within its grasp.

 _"_ _Go_ , Ten." Duchess said forcefully. Her slender hands were remarkably strong against his chest as his body continued to shake of its own accord. "Gather the medics. We can't risk moving him in this state. I'll stay here with Jack."

"But—my lady—!"

 _"_ _Now!"_ Ten acquiesced without his usual commentary, but not before casting off his cape and bundling the voluminous material under the king's head. In his right mind, Jack would've been highly embarrased about bleeding all over his friend's uniform, but the only emotion he could summon was one of fear. He couldn't be alone with Duchess. Not again.

"Jack, can you hear me?"

 _Have another_

"Everything's going to be fine."

 _little sip_

"We'll figure this out, just stay with me!"

 _of Honesty,_

"Please, Jack. I'm here. I'm right here."

 _Jack._

Duchess' hand found one of his own, and her grip tightened desperately. His tremors had lessened somewhat, but this only seemed to cause the pounding in his head to increase. He tried to recoil from her touch again, but the blonde held him steadfast. "D-Duchess…please…" His voice came out soft, but discernible. He forced his eyes open and caught his fiancée's blue gaze. "No…more…"

Her forehead crinkled in concern. "No more of what, Jack? What happened? What was in that bottle?" She kept her free hand firmly planted on his chest as his body continued to shiver beyond his control.

"I c-can't…no more Honesty, please…" He didn't even know where he was anymore. Duchess' eyes grew wide with shock and shame.

"I didn't do this to you, Jack. I would never intentionally hurt you." The mocking voice pulsed continuously through his mind. Lies. She always lied. Mother had taught her well. "Stay with me. Ten will be here soon. He's getting help."

The ache in his head reached a fever pitch and he found himself returning Duchess' embrace without thinking. "No more Honesty…" His words slurred into an incoherent mess as the bodily spasms grew stronger.

"You destroyed the teas, Jack. There is no more Honesty." He no longer had the capacity to answer. Ten soon arrived with two medical professionals who took to hovering above his trembling form like a pair of hornets. His thrashing reached a new intensity. There was nothing he could do. She'd make him spill all his secrets. One more drop of Honesty and he'd confess to all his time spent in the Resistance, his wavering self-confidence as King, his fear of Mad March's return, his growing attraction to Duch—

The pain was slowly receding. Darkness obscured his vision like black paint on a canvass. He welcomed the wave of unconsciousness and tumbled through it as effortlessly as stepping through the Looking Glass.


	4. Chapter 4

The Grand Library was anything but silent. News of Jack's affliction had spread through his supporters like wildfire and they had begun to congregate inside the magnificant structure. Clubs, Diamonds and commoners alike waited hours for updates regarding the king's condition. Even the library's top level, which had been converted into a temporary hub for royal activities, couldn't completely block out the constant hum from the crowd gathered below.

Twenty four hours had passed since the incident at the White Rabbit processing center. Jack had been awake for two of those hours, and was gradually improving, but Ten had sent for Caterpillar regardless. Overdosing on one tea was serious enough, but a multitude of warped emotions was another matter entirely. The head doctor of the Hospital of Dreams didn't typically make house-calls, but he was always interested in special cases. Jack hated being a special case. It made him feel weak.

Caterpillar peered curiously at Jack from behind his circular glasses, but made no attempt to move beyond the doorframe of the small room. His plush velvet lined coat marked a stark contrast against the King's simple garments.

"As I mentioned to you before, we're all vulnerable. Mix the wrong feelings together - the right kind of bad with the wrong kind of good - you'll wind up with a total breakdown."

Jack lay limply in bed as his body continued to fight the sluggish effects of the nefarious substance. He resented the unspoken implication. "I did _not_ have a breakdown." Caterpillar showed no visible reaction to the remark and lapsed into a thoughtful silence. Jack tried to gauge Duch's reaction out of his peripheral vision but her face was turned downward, into shadow. Ever since he'd regained consciousness, she'd avoided his gaze. He didn't remember much after his friendly chat with Seven, but it was obvious something significant had happened between then and now. Ten had tried to fill in the gaps of his memory, but the Club had been absent during the worst of his delusions when his fiancee had sent him away to seek help. Jack's heart broke as he contemplated the many ways he might've hurt his Duch. A memory flashed unbidden in his mind and he visibly cringed at the image. Alice, standing by the water's edge. Asking him about the Duchess. He still remembered his flippant and unemotional response: 'My mother's creature. An arrangement. I have no feelings for her, nor she for me.' Had he repeated these very words back to the woman who had so faithfully stood by his side this past year?

"Based on the tea's impact to your cognitive and physical functions, I'm inclined to believe that what Seven told you is true. Fear is a powerful emotion."

"That's what that was? Fear?" Ten chimed in hesitantly. Charlie stood at attention, accentuating his full height. His goatee quivered with dramatic gusto as he delivered his speech.

"Fear? I scoff at Fear! Fear has no place among us knights, and you'll not see me run and hide when that devilish Spade shows up again!"

Duch remained silent. Jack wished he could go to her.

Caterpillar tilted his head as if confirming a suspicion. "Tell me, King of Wonderland. What frightens you?"

Jack searched the doctor's face for a clue as how to respond. The man's passive expression displayed nothing. "What do you mean, what frightens me?" His voice grew tight with barely controlled anger. "You know perfectly well, Caterpillar. The Spades are gaining power. They may or may not have resurrected Mad March – _the assassin –_ and who knows how many teas of this nature survived the Casino's fall—"

"Yes, yes," the Resistance leader said absently. He dismissed Jack's tirade with a wave of his hands. "I know what you're afraid of. But what frightens you, Jack?"

The blonde waited a beat before answering. The question was weighted somehow, but he couldn't decipher the hidden meaning. There was obviously a right and a wrong answer and Jack never did like playing the odds when they were stacked against him. "Isn't it the same thing?" he ventured at last, his confusion evident.

Caterpillar sighed and faced Ten. The moment was broken. Jack couldn't help but feel he'd failed some kind of test.

"The tea will run its course in a few hours. The King will make a full recovery. If anyone else comes in contact with the substance, notify me at once. The Hospital of Dreams always has vacancies."

A bit of color returned to Ten's face, his relief evident. "But what should we do if this happens again? If Jack…or any one of us, is forced to drink this…Fear?"

Caterpillar smiled wryly and cast a final glance at Jack. His features had softened and it looked as if he were holding back a small smile. "Simple. Conquer your fear."

Ten scoffed and wrung his hands together. "Well, there doesn't seem to be anything simple about _that_. We've only just started rebuilding Wonderland! Surely there must be other remedies…" The Club followed the doctor out of the room and continued to pepper him with questions. Their voices soon became indistinguishable, leaving Jack and Duchess awkwardly avoiding eye contact. The tense atmosphere did nothing to dispel Charlie's enthusiasm, who had begun celebrating at the mention of the king's recovery.

"Oh, happy day! How we all worried! You've been a wonderful friend, my boy, I wouldn't want to lose you. And now I won't! Happy, happy, happy day!" The knight's white armor clinked merrily as he danced about the room. Jack chuckled at the sight, but Duch remained morose. Charlie appeared not to have noticed. "Oh! I have just the thing! It'll help make you better."

Jack immediately shook his head. The last time the knight had tried to make him feel better, he'd vomited for three days straight. Apparently the wild berries that grew around the Kingdom of the Knights weren't exactly edible. "That's not necessary. I don't need—"

"I'll be back!" Charlie sang loudly and ran away as fast as his legs could carry him. Jack sighed and dropped his head wearily back onto embroidered pillows. He closed his eyes and simply listened, counting down the seconds.

 _Five._ The floorboards creaked as Duch took a tentative step towards his bed.

 _Four._ She retreated, bumping into a piece of furniture in her haste.

 _Three._ No sound. Probably deciding whether to stay or go.

 _Two._ Decision made. Her footsteps receded towards the doorframe.

 _One._ The old oak door creaked in protest as it started to close.

"Please don't leave me."

Her movements stopped.

He'd hoped to come across as self-assured and commanding, but his voice sounded frayed with fatigue and took on a pleading tone. "Duch, please stay by my side. I don't want to be alone."

He found the courage to open his eyes, but quickly dropped his gaze as he witnessed Duch hovering on the threshold, hand pressed against the golden door knob. He sensed her hesitation and tried to hide his disappointment. "I—it's fine, Duch. I'm just tired, that's all. Forget it."

There was a slight pause. He half imagined she'd already left before her bell-like voice permeated the silence. "I might not be the best company, Jack. Perhaps I can fetch Ten or Dormie."

"I'd much prefer to have you here over Dormie," Jack replied with a slight smile. He gestured to a chair by his bedside, the one Ten had commodeered like a smothering mother hen after Jack had awoken from his drug-induced sleep. "Unless you want to see which one of us falls asleep the fastest. In that case, I'd put my house on Dormie." This earned him a fleeting smile from his fiancee and she took her place next to him, in the golden chair that complemented the crimson sheets tucked around his torso. "I'm sorry, Duch. For bringing you with me into that _place_. For losing you." He recalled that moment of horror when her hand vanished from his grasp and the crashing guilt that followed.

He wanted Duch to scream at him, curse him, disregard his apology with well-deserved loathing. Instead, she laughed. It was a beautiful sound, even if the recent events had dulled its usual luster.

"I believe you have it the other way around. I'm the one who lost you." They exchanged glances as the earlier tension between them ebbed away, until suddenly the laughter was contagious.

"I saw it, Duch! One second you were there, then the next—"

"Exactly. We were holding hands, then you disappeared. If anyone's to blame, it's me, for not talking you out of your headstrong ideas."

"But where would be the fun in that?" Jack added, garnering a playful shove from Duch. He picked at the quilten cover between his fingertips as his expression slipped back into his impenetrable mask. The mask he'd molded and crafted into perfection his entire adult life. It wasn't fair to his fiancee, to hide behind it like a frightened oyster, but he wasn't used to having his emotions stripped raw, and the thought of rehashing the events of his delirious episode terrified him. But he had to know. "When you found me…Did I say anything to hurt you?"

Duch tore her gaze away, and that simple action filled the young king's heart with shame. "Duch, whatever I said, I didn't mean it, you know I didn't." And then, surprisingly, shockingly, the usually poised and confident woman burst into tears and reached for his hand. Jack returned the simple contact with a comforting squeeze as tears rolled down her face.

"It's not you, Jack," she said softly, voice trembling. "I just don't think that I…belong here, with all of you." Duch turned her face to the side while the tears continued to fall.

"Duch, no." Jack held her hand tighter. "You have a place here. A home here." The beautiful woman merely shook her head.

"I was the Queen's pet—"

"We were both her slaves," Jack interjected. He hadn't realized that he'd entwined her fingers with his own, but the touch was warm and reassuring. "What she did to us and made us do under her reign…it's unspeakable. But we're not those people anymore, Duch."

"But…I was so awful..."

"I wasn't much fun to be around, either."

"I was just using you to secure my position in the palace."

"You did what you were told. We didn't have a choice."

"And…and then…she ordered me to drug you with Honesty, but…but I gave you too much, Jack. I wanted so desperately to know about Alice that I didn't even consider how you'd react to the tea—" Her voice broke as she quelled another sob.

Jack rubbed the back of his fiancee's hand consolingly. It wasn't her fault. He needed to remind her that she'd been drugged herself, that his mother had always pit them against each other despite their engagement. He meant to say all this and more, but what came out of his mouth surprised them both.

"I never loved Alice. I thought I did, once. But…" Jack swallowed thickly as he tried to organize his jumbled feelings. _I was scared a thousand times over when I thought I lost you in the processing center. For the first time in ages, I didn't think about myself. I worried for Alice because her failure would mean the fall of the Resistance. I worried for you because…just because._ "But we didn't really know each other. And…she didn't belong here. Not like you." Duch's gentle grip tightened ever so slightly at the words. He didn't know how long they clasped each others' hands, lapsing into a soothing silence, when the sound of pounding footsteps drew near and a certain White Knight clamored inside the room. The king and Duchess disentangled their hands, but Jack missed the touch instantly.

"Pawns and rooks and kings and knights, across the chessboard, through the night…" Charlie sang, oblivious, and handed Jack a small bundle he'd tucked beneath his arm. On closer inspection, Jack realized the ragged item was indeed a litte burlap sack filled with woolen stuffing and worn from years of use. Haphazard stitches held the bundle together.

"She's kept me company since I was a boy, but I think you need her now more than me."

Jack caressed the worn keepsake with a warm smile. The significance of the elder's gesture was not lost on him. "She's been your companion for years, Charlie! I can't—"

The White Knight's goatee started to wobble dramatically.

"Uh, actually, I'd love to sleep with it…" Jack pulled the teddy bear close to his chest. His friend's face brightened instantly.

"I knew thou king would find its company a wonderous and unexpected blessing!" The knight suddenly turned to Duch, eyes wide with excitement. "Come with me, dearest Duchess! Much to do! Sleep well, young king!"

"But, Duch—" Jack mumbled, but his voice trailed off weakly. He couldn't possibly go to sleep now. He hadn't even begun to muddle through Caterpillar's advice and Duch…What if she left? What if he couldn't find her again?

As if sensing his uneasiness, Duch added in a quieter voice, "We'll all be here when you wake up. I promise." And, with that vow in mind, he hugged the tiny keepsake closer and fell into a dreamless slumber.


	5. Chapter 5

_What frightens you?_ Jack awoke feeling restless and his mind reeling with questions. Caterpillar's cryptic words looped endlessly in his mind, yet his pondering provided no further insight to their true meaning. He eventually gave up trying interprete their significance and pushed the troubling thoughts aside. He had more pressing matters at the moment.

Jack rose gingerly from the bed, trembling only slightly from the exertion, and winced as a dull ache blossomed in the back of his head. He'd almost forgotten about Seven's parting gift. Well, whatever. A little pain might even help him focus for the long day ahead.

He rummaged through the small corner closet and retrieved his nicest outfit. He hadn't worn clothes even close to this caliber since his official induction to the throne, and the silky material felt odd against his callused hands. One of the perks of being a prince meant his entire wardrobe was custom-made to ensure the best fit. He'd been properly measured for this button-down shirt over a year ago; the Pride coursing through his veins at the time demanded the very best from the over-worked tailors.

It was rather irritating that the shirt was now entirely too small. The fabric strained across his upper arms and chest. It was highly constrictive, not to mention downright uncomfortable. Maybe it shrunk during a wash? Despite the long hours of work poured into the shirt, he'd only worn it one time…the day he'd visited his mother in the Hospital. It had fit perfectly then. He entertained the idea of simply destroying the long-sleeved monstrosity. It had brought nothing to him but pain and misery. But it _was_ red. If he could – quite literally – paint himself as a target, then perhaps he could shield his friends from future Spades' attacks. It was worth a try.

But surely he could find something a lot less irritating! Jack tore through the rest of the closet and small dresser, throwing clothes to the floor in his haste. His frustration bristled. He had lost many of his possessions during the Casino's destruction, but he thought he'd managed to salvage at least one more garment befitting of a king. The silken shirt would have to do. He cast about for an appropriate dress jacket, but came up empty. He sighed and combed a shaky hand through his sandy hair. The majority of his current garments were of poor quality. They were meant to induce a chameleon effect so he could blend seamlessly amongst his subjects. Today, however, he needed to channel power. He needed to demonstrate regality, confidence and resilience in the face of adversity. He needed to embrace his birthright.

He also really needed to get out of this shirt. It already felt like it was cutting off circulation to his arms. Another half-hearted glance at his strewn clothes verified ripping said monstrosity into satisfying tatters was not viable, given his lack of better dress options. He found some pressed pants which, to his relief, fit reasonably well. His boots needed a shine, but otherwise they would suffice. His wardrobe was swiftly coming together, except…he surveyed the accompanying tie with mild disgust. It would undoubtedly provide a more polished appearance. He hated it. He grit his teeth and tread over the offending article in defiance. Never again.

Jack managed – _just barely_ – to button up the ridulous silken shirt when a hesitant knock appeared at the door. "Come in," he called loudly, not looking up when the door creaked open. He flexed his arms experimentally and grimaced. Hopefully the seams would hold.

"Wow, I mean – WHOA." Duch's startled reaction coaxed Jack into looking up. He took in the state of the room and cringed.

"I'm not usually this messy," he said by way of explanation. His sleeves stretched taut across his shoulders and forearms as he bent to scoop the scattered clothes into a more respectable pile on the floor.

"No, that's not…I mean, your _shirt_."

He grimaced as the silk creases cut lines across his skin. "I know. It's utterly awful." Jack made a show of straightening his bedsheets so he'd have an excuse to avoid eye contact. Duch always saw him at his worst. Why could he never be his best around her? "But it's the only nice shirt I have left."

"I…remember it." Duch said softly. "It's the only reason I was able to track you down that day. But it wasn't so—"

"Small?"

"—filled out back then."

Jack quit fiddling with the sheets and stared at his fiancee in wonder. Unexpectedly, he laughed. The action sent tight ripples across the damning material. "Very funny, Duch. I haven't changed quite _that_ much in the past year." He grinned good-naturedly at the blonde, but was surprised to see disbelief spread across her face.

"You really don't see it, do you?"

"See what?" He made the mistake of shrugging in the tight fabric, which bunched snugly around his neck. "Okay, this thing is coming _off!"_ Jack wrestled with the top two buttons, breathing a sigh of relief when they popped free, before Duch approached and stilled his hands.

"Jack, keep the shirt on. I didn't realize you had no idea." Her eyes were clear and purposeful. They didn't reflect any of the confusion that lined his face. He felt unusually vulnerable under her searching gaze.

"No idea about…? Look, this shirt is driving me crazy. It shrunk and I need something to wear when I address the public this morning and…" his voice died when he realized she was no longer looking in his eyes. She was focused on his chest and his stupid shirt. He wanted to die of embarrasment.

Duch didn't respond right away. She moved her right hand so it lay over his heart. "So, let me get this straight. You think some _silk_ changed more than you over the course of a year?"

Her question took him aback. "I…what?"

Now it was her turn to sigh. Her voice held a hint of exasperation. "I want you to tell me what's changed about you since last year."

"Uh…"

"And don't tell me 'nothing'. I need to hear you say it."

He cleared his throat. "Alright, sure." His fingers were still frozen by the top buttons of his shirt, so he repositioned them over her delicate hands. He was sure he'd disappoint Duch, but he wasn't about to lie to her, either. "I became the King of Wonderland. I stopped drinking tea." He hesitated, wondering if he should go on. She had mentioned the shirt. Maybe she wanted him to talk about clothes? "I stopped wearing suits. Never liked them. I'd rather blend in than have the appearance of wealth indicate my social status."

Duch rested her head against his chest. He caressed her hair softly and she melted into his arms.

"And, uh, yeah, that's it." He finished lamely. He could feel the blonde gently shake her head.

"There's more. Plenty more. You've changed more than you think. Tell me."

He scoured his brain for anything else. He didn't know what she wanted him to say. "Well, there's really nothing else. I still wear red, though. That hasn't changed."

"Why not?" Her voice was quiet and the world seemed to still around them.

Jack shifted awkwardly, which had nothing to do with the infernal silk. He hadn't known the answer himself until this exact moment. "It's funny. I've been forced to wear red my entire life. But I was also wearing red when we first met…So, I guess the color makes me think of you. And this is getting really embarassing so can we please stop." Jack took a step back to encourage some distance, but Duch stepped forward with him and tilted her head up to catch his gaze. Her eyes were glistening with tears. Of course he'd made her cry. He was Jack freaking Heart, what did he expect?

"I'm sorry, Duch. If I've said anything to offend you—"

She wrapped him in a crushing hug. He returned the embrace stiffly at first, then drew her closer, resting his chin lightly on the top of her head. His breath hitched as her fingers worked up the nape of his neck. He allowed himself to relax into the cool touch.

"You should wear shirts like this more often." He detected her sly smirk even with her face hidden from his view.

"Oh yeah? For whose benefit? Because I'm chafing up a storm over here." He didn't seriously expect Duch to answer. Just holding her in his arms was enough.

"Well, my benefit, for one. I _am_ your fiancee." She said cheekily.

"Surely my future wife wouldn't sabotage the rest of my clothes?!" Jack exclaimed in faux horror. Her petite frame shook against his chest as she failed to hold back a string of giggles.

"You won't have any clothes left if you continue working out at the rate you're going," the blonde murmured when she regained her breath. Jack shook his head in bewilderment. His busy schedule didn't exactly allow for extended leisure activities, especially during a period of political upheaval. He barely had enough time to eat and sleep, let alone improve his physique.

"I don't see what you mean—"

Duch pulled away from his grasp and placed her hands on her hips. "Your life of luxury was pulled out from under you in an instant, but you persevered. As soon as you came to power, you stopped treating the suits like servants. You made yourself visible to your people and proudly walk among them. Like, literally walk. You hardly ever use the flamingos."

"Yeah, but—"

"You train with Charlie everyday. You don't have to, but you accept his crazy methods and do everything he asks. Afterwards you turn around and practice swordfighting."

"A lot of good _that_ did when Seven—"

"You help rebuild. You recommend improvement projects then physically assist with the labor. In the span of one year, you've developed skills in metal-working, carpentry and excavation."

"No…well, yes, but it's not like—"

"You shouldn't cover yourself up so much. You're always wearing long sleeves or jackets. You've worked hard to become a worthy leader and your body happened to reap the benefits. Show it off."

A thoughtful expression crossed Jack's face. He didn't feel any different. But Duch was right; he had been more active these past few months than during his adult life within the Casino. He worked a few more buttons open and smiled craftily. "Far be it from me to deny my lady her request."

"Stop!" She exclaimed, her bell-like laughter ringing through the air. "Besides, you're just doing this to get out of that shirt."

"Uh, _yeah_. This shirt _sucks_. Did I mention the chafing?"

She rolled her eyes and began to re-button the shirt all the way up to the collar. He groaned miserably as the material tightened aginst his will.

"Grow up, you big baby. This has got nothing on a corset," Duch chastised when she finished. "There. I'd say you're ready. You mentioned a speech?" Jack extended his arm mockingly, but Duch accepted it all the same.

"Together, then," he said and gave her a playful push with his shoulder. She returned it in kind.

"Together."

"And then I can burn the shirt?" Their banter continued as they made their way to the clamoring subjects below.


End file.
